


Holdsugár

by zoldnoveny



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/F, Historical, Romance, canonverse, country names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16818451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoldnoveny/pseuds/zoldnoveny
Summary: Eleven times Hungary saw Ukraine.





	Holdsugár

**Author's Note:**

> yeah ok so basically I wrote this at 2am on my phones notes last night. I really love them a lot and . Yeah. Thanks for reading :)

1.

The first time she sees Ukraine, they are children. Her hands are stained with blood and dirt and tiredness drags through her to the very core. Hair in her eyes and the heavy weight of her sword, tip against the ground as she pulls it along. Ukraine stands there in the distance, her hair like moonlight, face gentle and kind. She is very beautiful in a way Hungary does not understand.

Her eyes flick over, much too far away to make out true color, and they meet.

2.

“Thank you for helping me, Mister Hungary.” She says, in her sweet soft voice. ”I always lose my way! So forgetful of me. You are very kind.” She blinks with pale eyelashes,fanning against her cold-flushed cheeks.

As they walk, the snow crunches beneath their feet. Hungary keeps her hand over the hilt of sword, while she does not make eye contact.

“No need to thank me.” Is her reply. There is something about Ukraine that makes her insides twist up. She could feel her here, in her home, as soon as she accidentally stumbled over the border. It was evident in the rapidity of her heartbeat, the tingling beneath her skin. She will never know what it is that this girl does to her.

They walk on in relative silence as the winter forest hums quietly around them, nothing but whistling wind and their heavy breath, which puffs out before them in little clouds.

When Hungary has returned Ukraine to her home, Ukraine tips forward on her toes to press cold lips to her cheek. A thrill races through her. After Ukraine pulls back, she smiles, gentle and genuine, and then disappears.

3.

She sits at the table and taps her foot against the floor, drums her fingers. She doesn’t want to feel out of place, because she shouldn’t, but Ukraine always has a way of putting her on edge. She does not think this is a bad thing, but cannot be sure it’s entirely good, either.

There is no politics to this visit. They share quite a bit of shared border, so they should be friends. Ukraine has invited her in for supper and she has accepted.

A bowl of stew is set before her. “Here, eat.” Ukraine tells her.

The years have been kind to her. She was always beautiful, but it has blossomed. Her silvery hair is braided and pinned into a bun, face no longer hidden. Deep blue eyes, a curving nose, bowed lips, pink cheeks. A marvel. Hungary thinks of men’s vulgarities and how they say they want to fuck and ruin women they find attractive -she thinks she’d like to slice the heads off men who would ever say such things about Ukraine.

“Thank you.” She picks up the spoon.

4.

This is the first time she has kissed a woman. Ukraine feels like heaven itself, as she’s gathered up in Hungary’s arms, lips soft and open. As she breaths, Hungary feels it in her chest, with each hitched inhale and stuttered exhale. Her hands curl around her neck and a jolt goes down her spine.

She thinks it would be very nice to stay here, like this, forever.

5.

“Why did you never tell me?” Ukraine stands back, her lovely face twisted up in shock - and something else. Hungary prays that it isn’t disgust.

“I didn’t think it was necessary.” She cannot look her in the eye.

“How?” Ukraine’s voice wavers. “Why would it not be necessary? Hungary, I understand you. I know what it is to be a woman like us in a world full of man-fueled hate. I am you. You are me.” She reaches for her hand, and grips it tight. “We need each other. I should have known.”

Ukraine kisses her battered knuckles.

6.

She teaches her to be gentle, planting seeds in the garden, outside beneath the Ukrainian sun.

Ukraine’s home - for now, at least - is a humble cottage surrounded by rolling land. It suits her well. It is very welcoming and calming, nothing luxurious, yet very comfortable. Hungary likes it here very much.

“Don’t press it too deep into the dirt,” Ukraine’s hand reaches over to lay across Hungary’s. “Just cover it up. See, watch me.” She demonstrates.

Hungary has never quite known how to do things without vigor. Her life has been clashing swords and bloodshed, screaming anger and fierce battles. Never knelt over a patch of dirt, with careful fingers and calculated precisition.

7.

“You’re wearing a dress.”

Hungary cannot be sure if she likes the way Ukraine said that. It sounds surprised, unsteady. She can’t blame her - all she’s seen her in is ill-fitting men’s clothes and her military uniform. Now her hair is brushed, wrists and neck dabbed with sweet smelling perfume, wearing ruffling skirts and stockings. It doesn’t quite feel like her yet, but this is what Austria wants.

“I thought you were the one to tell me I shouldn’t be ashamed of being a woman.”

“Of course,” Now, Ukraine looks offended. Her brow is furrowed, lips quirked into a light frown. “But there is not just one way to be a woman. I always admired you for being an example of that.”

Hungary shifts. She hates it, but she’ll never say. Her life is different, now that she is a married woman. She has a duty to her country to do as Austria asks her.

She just wishes Ukraine didn’t look so sad.

8.

This is what she has missed the most, she decides. The feel of Ukraine against her, her mouth and her hands and her skin, the way she smells and sounds and _is_. It is intoxicating.

She thinks of Austria looming over her, determination in his eyes as he tries, steely eyed and almost angry that it isn’t working. Hungary with her legs spread for him, feeling empty and wrong and terrible.

There is no need to try with Ukraine. It just happens, flows organically, as it should. She is everything.

“I missed you,” she whispers in her ear, desperate and raw. “I miss you.”

Ukraine holds her face in small, calloused hands, looks at her with river-blue eyes. In the low candlelight, she glows gold. Her bare skin is bathed in it. She is ethereal.

They kiss, and Hungary feels tears welling in her eyes.

9.

Before, it was easy to slip over the border to go and visit Ukraine. Now she lives in Austria’s home, and he is always watching, even if he is not always around. Ukraine can come to see her, but it is always planned. The last time, they were together, like that, but now they only sit around the table.

Austria is at the head, and he eats in silence as he always does.

Hungary hated him at first, but now she does not. She is sad for him, mostly. He is so obsessed with the idea of how things should be, he never simply lets them be.This is why Hungary must wear dresses and why she must let him try and fuck her. But she knows what he does with men in the dark.

The difference between them is that Hungary, in the beginning, didn’t know there was anything to be ashamed of.

She is not ashamed of Ukraine, as she extends a leg to brush her foot against her leg, beneath the table. She is not ashamed when Ukraine smiles and winks.

And Austria, even in their company, is entirely alone.

10.

Leaning her head back, her hair is brushed slowly and carefully, Ukraine’s delicate fingers carding through the tresses, horsehair bristles sorting through the mussed curls. She sits with her shoulders between Ukraine’s knees, her head before her chest.

“I must say, even though your new femininity is unusual, it is nice that you are not so opposed to having your hair brushed, now.”

Hungary snorts and remembers her days as a boy, when her hair went uncombed for years and amassed into an unkempt bird’s nest.

“That was a backhanded compliment.” She says.

Ukraine lightly whaps her on the back of her head, good-naturedly. “Hush it, you.”

11.

After she has left him, she isn’t quite sure what to do with herself. She remembers when she was first wed to Austria, and how enraged she felt at the idea of being forced into a man’s company. Now, she feels empty without him.

The next morning came and she went to put on a dress, before she paused. So much time has passed, that she had forgotten dresses were not her choice of clothing.

When she goes to see Ukraine, she is wearing a suit. It feels right.

Ukraine smiles, big and bright, and tells her she looks very handsome.

Hungary preens.

“So, it is yours now.” Hungary tells her. She has given a piece of herself, Transcarpathia, to Ukraine, and she hopes she and her people will be kind to it.

She has no reason to think otherwise. After all, this is the woman she has always loved.

**Author's Note:**

> note: Transcarpathia was once Hungarian territory but eventually became ukranian after WWI :)


End file.
